


Old Friends, New Problems

by BFab



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Bucky is CIA, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Howling Commandos - Freeform, M/M, Oblivious Bucky Barnes, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Russian Mafia, Spies & Secret Agents, Undercover as Married, Witness Protection, brewery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:06:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24555124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BFab/pseuds/BFab
Summary: James Barnes is a Special Agent with the CIA, having made it back out in the field after he lost his arm in the Army (Arm-y. Heh). He's been undercover working on gathering information on an international weapons trade for years now, but his cover and the operation are blown when his estranged best friend Steven Goddamn Captain Rogers Fucking America literally crashes back into his life and ruinseverything.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 13
Kudos: 157





	1. Kool-Aid Man Cap

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been complete and just sitting on my Google Drive for ages, so I'm finally posting it. I have no beta, these are all my mistakes. My Russian is only good as Google Translate, I deny any responsibility for foreign language grammatical errors.
> 
> I read the summary for [Stevus Interruptus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10452903?view_full_work=true) by GoodbyeBlues and a whole plot fell into my head. So this story is inspired by, but ultimately plays out differently than theirs.

James tucked a piece of his long hair behind his ear and tried not to fidget too much. Thankfully his metal hand couldn’t shake with nerves, and he kept his flesh and blood one gripped tightly around his glass on the table. He’d been working towards this for the last three years, carefully building his cover, working his way up the ranks of Alexander Pierce’s organization until he was in a position to negotiate a major weapons buy with the Russian mafia. James (or, he should say, Iakov Kuznetsov) was the perfect liaison for the two groups; he had the charming smile and Brooklyn drawl to gain the trust of the Americans, along with the dry humor and capacity for vodka to endear him to the Russians. He was here in the cramped back room of a warehouse along with Pierce himself and his right hand man, goon extraordinaire Brock Rumlow as teams of workers brought in shipments of weapons and James spoke to the Russians on a video call with a tablet propped up on the rickety table. 

“ _Da, ya dostal vam raketnyye puskovyye ustanovki_ {Yes, I got you the rocket launchers},” James was laughing to Semyon, his contact, when a rumble moved through the warehouse and he shared a glance with Pierce and Rumlow. “ _Sem, mne nuzhno budet perezvonit' vam_ {Sem, I will have to call you back},” he said, and was reaching for the End Call button just as the wall behind him burst open in a cloud of brick and dust. 

Captain America stood there like a star spangled Kool-Aid man, shield up and ready as all three of the men in the room drew their weapons. “Bucky?” 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” James faltered; he didn’t want to kill Captain America, _goddamn it_ , but he had a cover to keep and the guy literally just punched a hole through it. He was between the captain and the other two in the room, and they were closest to the door. “Sir, I’ll hold him off, you guys go. I’ll catch up.” He heard the two men leave immediately- there was something to be said for self preservation among gangsters. 

He and Rogers stood in a stretched out moment of frozen anticipation before James grabbed the rickety table he’d been sitting at and flung it at the captain, distracting him long enough to turn and run after Pierce and Rumlow, weaving through dark hallways. “Bucky, wait!” Rogers was following behind him. “I can help you!” 

“I’m not who you think,” James growled. “Leave it.” 

Rogers caught James’ metal wrist, spinning him around in the same movement. “I know you, James Buchanan Barnes. You've been my best friend since I was five years old.” 

James scoffed. “Then why haven’t you spoken to me in twelve years?” 

Steve dropped his wrist and stepped back, looking hurt and ashamed, which made what James had to do next that much harder. He slumped and sighed, trying to seem defeated before bringing his metal fist up, hard, to the side of Steve’s jaw, knocking him out cold. 

James sprinted for the exit and called out to pierce and Rumlow as he caught up with them. He mustered up a relieved smile and said, “I lost him,” as he stepped forward to join them, but Rumlow had a gun pointed at his chest. 

“Brock, what are you doing? We need to get out of here, now!” 

“No,” Pierce cut in, “Rumlow and I have to get out. You’ve set us up.” 

“The fuck I have! You think I know Captain Goddamn America?” James spat the words at them, panicked and angry and scared shitless. Pierce was almost to the door, to the alley with a waiting car and then he’d be gone, vanished. 

“Sure sounded like he knew you,” Rumlow said, gun not wavering from the center of James’ chest. 

“He thought I was someone else,” James knew he sounded pleading and desperate, but he was. “I can still save this deal, let me fix this! We can regroup, I can- I’ll call the Semyon from the car-” 

“No, Iakov.” Pierce cut him off, cold and calm as ever. “Or should I say James? James Buchanan Barnes, isn’t that what the captain called you?” 

James felt the blood drain from his face; he hadn’t realized they’d heard so much, and now his cover was well and truly blown. He opened his mouth, scrambling for something, anything to say that might salvage this, but nothing came. 

Rumlow smirked and set his shoulders, finger squeezing the trigger. James twisted to get his left shoulder in front of him as two shots rang out deafeningly loud in the narrow hallway. The first glanced off the metal of his arm, but the second found flesh and James was quickly acquainted with the concrete of the floor as the bullet lodged in his hip and his legs gave out. Rumlow shifted his stance for another shot, but the sound of running footsteps had Pierce barking out a short “Brock,” and they both slipped out the door. 

Steve Rogers appeared seconds later, what should’ve been a swollen mess of a broken jaw merely a deep purple bruise with distinct knuckle-shaped markings that looked days instead of minutes old. 

“They went for a car out back,” James said from where he was sprawled on the floor. “Hurry, you can still catch them.” 

Steve blinked at him dumbly, then down at his hip where he was putting pressure on his gunshot wound and crimson blood was flowing over the silver of his metal fingers with a sort of beauty, if James listened to the shock that was trying to blanket his thoughts and focus on weird shit like that. _No, you still have a job to do_. “Pierce and Rumlow are out that door-” he tried again, but the sound of squealing tires interrupted him. Pain and defeat washed over him in a wave. “Fuck!” James slammed his metal fist on the ground, leaving a small crater in the concrete. 

Steve was jolted out of his stare and dropped to his knees beside James, pulling a clotting sponge out of a pocket of his uniform to press to the wound that was bleeding freely now that James wasn’t applying pressure. “Are you ok?” He asked inanely. “What happened?” 

“You blew my cover, is what fucking happened,” James growled through clenched teeth. “And I was _shot_ , do I look ok to you?" 

Steve touched his ear with the hand that wasn’t pressed to James’ hip. “Sam we need medical on the East side of the building, there’s a door leading to a back alley-” 

“Get your team to follow and apprehend a black Ford Expedition-” James tried to shout into Steve’s comms, but Steve tilted his head aside and kept talking. 

“GSW to the hip, no exit wound. I need a transport.” 

The alley door burst open (even though there was a handle right there, superheroes couldn't resist some property damage, apparently) and a dude with literal wings was standing there looking as panicked as a bird guy in giant goggles can look. When he registered the scene in front of him he ripped off the goggles and rolled his eyes in exasperated relief. “Cap I thought you were down, man.” 

“No,” Steve said, irritated and anxious. “What’s the ETA on the ambulance? We need to get Bucky to medical.” 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Sam asked, looking down at the guy that - for all he knew - was here to sell a boat load (a literal cargo vessel boat load) of weapons to some Russian gangsters. 

“Bucky’s nobody,” James said, and the shock and anger coursing through his system didn’t even let him feel bad about Steve’s flinch at those words. “I’m Special Agent James Barnes. You assholes just crashed my bust, blew my cover, and let the two biggest players walk out the door. So thanks for throwing away the last three years of my life. If I could stand on both legs I’d kick both your asses.” 

“Who’s getting an ass kicking?” Hawkeye emerged from the ceiling. James recognized him from the news coverage on the Battle of New York. When Steve - the Avengers - had become famous. 

“You can have one too,” James said to him challengingly, but Hawkeye just grinned back. 

“Cap, we’ve been in the building for five minutes and you’ve already picked up a stray?” Hawkeye teased, calm as anything. James considered his chances of drawing on these three, how far he’d get, and which one he’d shoot on the slim chance he got a bullet into one of them. 

“Alright,” he said, fed up and frustrated and so fucking done with these goddamn superheroes. He put his metal hand in the wall to create a handhold and hauled himself up to his feet - well, foot. Steve made a pained noise, like he was the one that had fire racing through his pelvis with each heartbeat. James took a breath to clear the dizziness before he raised his right hand, pointing at the three Avengers before him, demanding silence. He reached awkwardly across his body to his left pocket for his phone, only to find a neat bullet hole through the screen. He bit out a curse. “Somebody give me a phone.” 

“Buck, the ambulance-” Steve tried to reason, but James cut him off, barely keeping a snarl out of his voice. 

“I need a phone so I can call my sup and tell him that three years’ worth of work and federal money just walked out the back door.” James stood there, left leg suspended between his metal hand in the wall and his right foot on the floor, with his right hand outstretched, waiting for a phone to be placed in it. 

The three costumed men looked at each other. “Mine’s on the quinjet,” said Steve, shrugging. 

Hawkeye pulled his out of a cargo pocket in his pants, revealing a cracked screen, which was apparently its normal state since he wasn’t at all distressed by it. He just held it up, giving James a view of a purple case with a pizza sticker on the back as he mashed at buttons. “Dead battery,” he said, and put it back in his pocket on the second try. The first try it had slid down his leg and thudded to the floor, which gave some insight on the state of the thing. 

Wing Guy gave a long-suffering sigh and handed over a sleek, high-tech phone. James entered a phone number, followed by an extension, followed by a code to give him access to a secure line, followed by voice confirmation, followed by two and a half minutes of silent holding before the Commander picked up. 

“You’re early.” 

“Yes sir,” James said, aware of the eyes on him, of the fact that he was on the cusp of throwing away his career. He gritted his teeth and forced the words out. “I’ve been compromised. Pierce and Rumlow are in the wind. We can secure the weapons that are here at the warehouse, but the mission has collapsed." 

“What happened,” his Commander demanded, voice flat with zero inflection. 

James gripped the wall harder, brick crumbling around his fingers, and shifted his weight on his good leg. “We had unexpected interference from an outside agency, sir. Another team moved in; we weren’t in place, we didn’t know they were coming and we were unable to mobilize in time.” He paused to breathe deeply and blink black spots away from his vision before continuing. “The Russians may be picked up still with a team. I can - um - I…” He closed his eyes completely now and carefully lowered himself to the floor, groaning a bit as his hip moved and stretched. 

“Barnes? What’s going on?” 

Before James had time to answer, the phone was taken out of his slack fingers. “This is Captain Steve Rogers, SHIELD operative. To whom am I speaking?” 

James wanted to be outraged. Even minor annoyance would work, but he was crashing hard. Adrenaline was fading fast and pulling his consciousness along with it. He slumped back into the wall and heard approaching sirens as Steve talked into the phone. 

“Yes Commander Ross, my team was informed of a weapons buy, we weren’t aware an agency was already working-” 

Steve’s voice and the increasing wail of the ambulance sirens faded as James gave up on his career and on staying awake. 


	2. A Strange Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James' future is decided without him, and he's informed by his boss and Steve's boss what will happen to him next.

James regained consciousness in a dim hospital room. The steady mechanical beep of a heart monitor came from somewhere behind him, and he felt pleasantly fuzzy and heavy. His left hip was heavier than the rest of him though, and in less fun ways, so he lifted the blanket covering himself to find thick bandaging on the area. _Oh yeah, I got shot._ He poked carefully around, trying to get an idea of the damage, but couldn’t feel anything between the drugs in his system and the bandages covering everything. He looked up to try and find a doctor or nurse, someone who could come in here and tell him he wasn’t going to be paralyzed, when he noticed three silhouettes on the other side of the frosted glass wall of his hospital room. 

Steve’s broad shoulders were recognizable anywhere, especially since he was still in his Captain America uniform. The much shorter and slighter, though no less intimidating silhouette of CIA Deputy Task Force Commander Everett Ross was there too, and a third, black-clad figure James didn’t know. He couldn’t make out any words, but what he could figure from the body language and tone of their muffled voices, things were tense. It seemed that Steve and Commander Ross were in agreement on something, and arguing with the third guy about it. Said guy was not having it. His voice rose, and the words carried in to James, “-can’t take Captain America out of the field for a babysitting job!”

There were indistinct murmurs from the other two men, and James saw Steve jut his chin out defiantly, while Commander Ross squared his shoulders with his arms held loosely at his sides. Most people, at first, took this stance to be non-threatening. That impression was very quickly rectified. James didn’t want to be presumptive, but it seemed safe to assume they were discussing him, and he figured he should at least be able to hear what was being said about himself.

“Ay,” his first attempt at speech came out at a croak, so he did what he could to clear his throat and tried again. “Hey!” It was still weaker than he wanted, but he saw Steve’s head snap towards him. He said something to the other two men, and then all three of them were striding into the hospital room.

“Hey Bucky, how’re you feeling?” Steve asked gently as he rushed to the bedside chair. “You had to have surgery to remove the bullet, but the doctor says it went well and you should have a full recovery. Do you need anything? Another blanket? Some water?”

“Jesus Rogers, I’m not your grandmother,” James muttered, and fumbled for the button to raise his bed into a more respectable sitting position. He glanced at the man in the black leather trench coat, a scary motherfucker with one eye, then addressed his commander. “Sir? Do I need to debrief?”

“Hm?” Commander Ross’ attention turned to James from where he’d been glaring at Eyepatch. He crossed his arms over his chest. “No Barnes, Captain Rogers has given me a full account of events, you can provide a supplementary written report when you’ve recovered. We’re placing you in Witness Protection. You’ll disappear until we catch Pierce and Rumlow.”

“ _What_? No, sir, put me on the team to track them down,” James said. “I know them, I can help-” but Ross was already shaking his head.

“It’s too dangerous. Your cover is blown; you’ll have Pierce, Rumlow, and the Russians out for your blood. This isn’t negotiable. You’ll be going to a town in Arizona with a new identity and a partner to help you blend in and watch your back.”

“Sir,” James said, breathless with panic and shame. “Commander Ross, I know the other night was a massive screw up, but you can’t just bench me-”

Ross’ arms uncrossed and James saw his hands flexing at his sides. _Danger_. He sat bad in his bed, defeated. “Yes, sir.” He got a short nod from Ross, and knew there was no way out of spending an indeterminate amount of time pretending to be _normal_ , having to keep his arm covered, interacting with the locals, and… wait, _partner_? 

“With all due respect to you, sir, and all due humbleness or whatever towards myself, I’m one of your top agents. I don’t need a partner or a- a bodyguard or whatever while I’m playing civilian. I can handle this solo.” He didn’t need some green agent fresh out of the academy to play house with during the most humiliating time in his career. It was bad enough that Steve was here to witness this, even though he was the cause of it. And scary eyepatch guy… “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Director Fury, SHIELD. I was just telling these two gentlemen that same thing, that you don’t need anyone else with you on this sabbatical.” James’ hackles rose at the word choice there, like this was a fucking vacation and not the mandatory punishment for royally screwing up that it actually was.

Steve was on his feet and in Fury’s space before James had even registered movement. “I told you Nick, you don’t get to control me. You are not my keeper. I can take a break from SHIELD to handle this, or I can resign. Either way, I’m going to be there for Agent Barnes.”

“The _fuck_ are you talking about?” James blurted, and later he would blame the painkillers on his total loss of professionalism in front of his boss and (maybe?) Captain America’s boss. Steve rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the ground sheepishly while Commander Ross answered James’ question.

“Captain Rogers has volunteered to act as your security detail while you’re in hiding,” Commander Ross said, almost smugly. “Which is fitting, seeing as it was his team’s interference that caused this situation in the first place.”

Fury opened his mouth to argue at the same time that James forgot the bullet hole in his hip and sat bolt upright with a startled, “what?!” before collapsing back onto the hospital bed with a gasp of pain he couldn’t hold back. The painkillers in his IV couldn’t cover up the fact that he really should have been staying still.

“I’ll get your doctor!” Steve was blushing bright red and spoke too loudly as he left the room without making eye contact with anyone. James was left in a _very_ awkward silence with Fury and Ross, neither man seeming to have any interest in small talk or pleasantries or any sort of positivity, ever. Awkward might not even be the right word for it. _Aggressive_ silence. James held himself as still as possible, ignoring the sweat beading on his brow and trying to keep his breathing quiet and steady as he listened to the beep of his heart rate monitor and worked on slowing it down. The tense silence held for the couple minutes that it took for Steve to herd a doctor into the room.

“Buck- um. Agent Barnes.This is Dr. Strange. He performed the surgery to remove the bullet in your hip.”

The doctor the Steve had bullied into the room was tall and haughty-looking, like he had better things to do than stand there and be a social buffer, which he probably did. James levered himself up with his metal arm, holding back a pained grimace, and extended his right hand towards the doctor. “Dr. Strange, thank you for patching me up-”

His gratitude was interrupted by Dr. Strange’s annoyed huff as he strode toward James, ignoring his outstretched hand entirely, and pushed him back on the bed with a hand on his shoulder, not flinching or reacting at all when he grasped metal instead of flesh. “No point in thanking me if you’re going to undo all my work by heaving yourself around and tearing stitches, Agent Barnes. Since I’m here I may as well examine you. The rest of you can leave.” His words were a clear dismissal, and Fury and Ross took the opportunity to leave the room and discuss James’ future without him. Steve stayed hovering in the corner, arms crossed over his dumb broad red, white, and blue chest.

The rich baritone of Dr. Strange’s voice and the quick competence of his hands as he picked along the edges of the bandaging, lifting it up, drew James in. Or it could’ve been the painkillers. It was definitely _not_ because Steve was in the room and he wanted to try and rile him up. Whatever it was, he set his most charming smile to pull at his lips and let his Brooklyn drawl loose to curl around his words. “Aw doc, I was just tryin’ to be respectful. And I think that after you’ve been inside me, we’re close enough for you to call me James. How about you, doc? You got a first name?”

To his delighted surprise, the doctor smiled as he answered, eyes still on James’ wound as he continued his inspection. “My name is Steven.”

James’ smile froze on his face, and he saw Rogers straighten up in surprise. He pushed forward. “What a coincidence, my colleague Captain America over there is also a Steven.”

Dr. Strange turned, apparently just realizing that Rogers was still in the room. He cleared his throat and stood up straight. “So. Agent Barnes. The bullet in your hip was luckily intact, and I was able to extract it without complications. After clearing the wound of all other debris-”

“Does ‘debris’ mean bits of my cell phone?” James quipped.

Dr. Strange laughed, despite trying to hold on to his professional demeanor. “Ah. Yes. So after that, I did what I could to repair the muscle and tendon damage you sustained, now it’s up to your body to finish the healing process. Which right now means staying still. Don’t make me put you in a full body cast.”

“Does that option come with sponge baths?” Dr. Strange and Rogers wore matching blushes at James’ teasing inquiry.

“Yes,” the doctor recovered with a smirk. “Along with bedsores, itching you can’t reach, a general stale smell…”

“Alright, alright. I’ll be good,” James sighed. 

Dr. Strange picked up his doctor voice again. “You’ll be able to move around in a day or so. I’m keeping you tonight and tomorrow to make sure things are starting to heal as they should and we’re avoiding infection since I understand you won’t be nearby for convenient checkups. You’ll have crutches and a brace for about three weeks; as long as you behave yourself, follow the PT exercises carefully, don’t overexert, you should be ok to walk without assistance after that. A nurse will go over everything with you in detail before your discharge. Do you have any questions before I go, James?”

“Yeah,” he said, squinting a bit. “What color are your eyes? I’ve been sitting here staring at you and I can’t figure it out. Are they green or blue or…” he trailed off, studying the blush deepening on the doctor’s face and ignoring the uncomfortable shifting from Rogers in the corner. 

Dr. Strange chuckled as he re-dressed James’ wound. “I will see you tomorrow, Agent Barnes.”

“G’night, doc,” James grinned at him.

The doctor left the room and James took the opportunity to lean his head back against the bed and close his eyes to breathe for a moment. A nervous cough and shuffle of feet came from the corner, and James rolled his head to look at Steve, who was still huddled in on himself. “So you think that witness protection and staying covert is gonna be easier for me with Captain America hanging around my safe house?” He considered that he maybe shouldn’t be engaging Steve while under the influence of whatever the hell they had in his IV bag, but he couldn’t seem to rein it in.

Steve’s shoulders squared up at the challenge, and James was thrown off, seeing that achingly familiar gesture twelve years later and on such a different body. “I can work undercover, I’m not going to be recognized.”

“You’re the second most recognizable Avenger and you can see your shoulders from space. It’s impossible not to notice you.”

Steve smiled a small, rueful smile. “You’d be surprised. Take off the shield, put on a hat, keep my head down, their eyes slide right off me. Only one person ever noticed me when I wasn’t Captain America; I have no idea what made him look, but I can guarantee it wasn’t the shoulders.”

He was staring at James almost wistfully, and James heard his heart monitor beep faster at the implication of Steve’s words. His mind whirled, but he was too muddled and foggy to be able to figure out how to respond. They stared at each other with twelve years’ worth of questions hanging in the air, then Steve dropped his eyes. “I’ll let you get some rest. I need to go clean up and prepare our cover.”

James just nodded, a contemplative frown on his face. He still didn’t like the situation, but he was too confused and too drugged up to be able to provide any sort of coherent argument, so he’d let it slide for the day. He really did need to get some sleep.


	3. Feelings Corner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twelve years of friendship drama starts leaking out on their road trip. Air-trip. Whatever.

James didn’t see Steve again until two days later, after he’d gotten discharged from the hospital sporting a cumbersome brace that limited the range of motion for his hip and a pair of crutches. A nondescript car with a nondescript agent in an ill-fitting suit driving took him to a small airport. He left himself feel relieved that he wouldn’t be flying commercial with his brace and crutches instead of uncomfortable at the expense of a private plane. The agent parked beside the hangar and retrieved James’ bags from the back; a different anonymous agent had gone to his apartment to pack some things for him before he left the hospital. They entered the hangar and James froze in astonishment when instead of the small plane he was expecting to find, there was a freaking hovercraft waiting inside.

Steve Rogers walked up and took the bags from the agent with a smile and dismissed him, all while James stood gaping at their apparent transport. When Steve hefted all of the bags over one massive shoulder and moved to James to hover a hand over the small of his back like he was some goddamn invalid (which ok, maybe _technically_ , but he could get around on his own and he wasn’t too severe of a fall risk) snapped him out of it.

“Why are you doing this?” James threw the question at Steve like it was an accusation. “Where is this coming from? You have better shit to do. Bigger, more important, global scale Captain America shit that you could be doing. If this is some misplaced sense of- of pity, or something, I don’t want it, ok?”

“Bucky, no-”

“I’ve been through a lot worse than this and you weren’t around for any of it. So why now? What is this?”

Steve’s eyes were wet, but he cleared his throat and responded with a steady voice. “I guess I feel responsible for how this went down. If I hadn’t interfered, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Well you’ve got that part right,” James scoffed.

“Good, then we’re in agreement that I should be here,” Steve smiled at him, then entered the plane with the luggage and left James to maneuver himself up the ramp. 

When he made it to the body of the jet, James noticed a distinct lack of… anyone else. “Rogers? Where’s the crew?”

“You’re looking at him,” Steve replied. “These quinjets practically fly themselves; I’ll have some stuff to monitor during flight, but we won’t need a full crew. I even packed refreshments,” he finished with forced brightness. “There’s a copilot’s seat up front, but you might be more comfortable back here where you can stretch your leg out on the bench seat. Flight should be about three and a half hours. If you want to nap or…”

“Yeah,” James spoke up, saving Steve from his awkward fumbling. “I, uh. I have a book, I think I’ll just hang out back here, thanks.”

The flight was as quick as Steve said it would be, and James was pretty comfortable sitting on the bench with his injured leg up and a novel to keep his mind occupied. He didn’t think about Steve Rogers in the cockpit, or being sidelined for who knows how long while other agents tried to salvage his ruined case, or how he was going to have to wear a gooey silicone arm condom to disguise his prosthetic, which he _hated_ ; it muted his sense of touch and made the arm run hot and the fake fingernails were just creepy as fuck, if he was being honest. He didn’t think about any of those things. Instead he got lost in Napoleonic warfare with ships and cannons and _dragons_. 

Around the time Laurence and Temeraire were meeting other members of the Aerial Corps at Loch Laggan training camp, Steve announced their descent and imminent landing. James sighed, put his e-reader away, and got his stupid silicone sleeve out of his duffel to put on his arm. He changed into his civilian clothing of loose sweats that were easy to get on over his brace and an Iron Man t-shirt, pulled his hair back into a bun, and was ready to be the non-threatening and inconspicuous Jamie Carter.

Jamie Carter was relocating to Arizona with his husband, Grant Carter, a graphic designer who worked from home. Jamie was coming to work for a local brewery, Howling Commandos Craft Beers. He was going to be the manager of regional distribution, trying to get bars in the area to carry their products. Jamie was charming and easy to talk to, easy to buy from, but private and kept his distance personally. Grant kept odd hours because of his work deadlines, and since he worked from home, he wasn’t seen out and about in the neighborhood much.

It was a good cover; a solid story that gave them both some flexibility and reprieve from their civilian personas that wouldn’t require them to be “on” all the time, but James was more anxious for this than any other assignment he’s ever worked, including the one that took his arm. That one, in fact, he’d run into full tilt, almost gleefully. Safe to say he wasn’t in a great headspace, though. 

A few minutes after landing, the personification of James’ anxiety emerged from the front of the jet in jeans and a hoodie that seemed to be struggling to fit across his shoulders. His hair was paler than usual, softer looking without its usual product keeping it under control, and he had a pair of black-rimmed glasses on. James had a moment of vertigo when two realities overlapped; the image of his childhood best friend overlaid on a superhero’s body. It was disconcerting and miraculous, to have lost his Stevie, but to see him strong and healthy. 

The best person that James had ever known finally had a body to match his conviction, and had left James in the dust when he got it. Not that James could blame him- there wasn’t much he could offer to a superhero, but to go overseas with the Army thinking he was going to rely on Steve for moral support while he was gone, just to encounter complete radio silence, near about killed him. Literally, because it broke his heart and his spirit and made him reckless, and that led him into the mission that took his arm and got him discharged. He had been home for almost two months when aliens attacked New York, the Avengers were put into the spotlight, and James figured out the reason that Steve had dropped him. He had better things to do now, more important things. With better, more important people who hadn’t confessed their love right before shipping out with the Army, and Steve had made it very clear how he felt about James’ feelings. 

“You don’t have to do this,” he blurted, and Steve looked up in confusion.

“What? Bucky, I thought we covered this.”

“Listen, my cover will hold just fine solo. You can just drop me off and go back, keep being Captain America. I don’t know why you’re here, Steve. Twelve years of absolutely nothing, and all of a sudden you’re ready to commit yourself to playing civilian with me for we don’t know how long? I don’t _get it_. Guilt over a botched mission isn’t enough for you to suddenly give a shit about me again or be comfortable in this sort of cover, I mean, you made it pretty fucking clear how you felt about how _I_ felt, so I’m giving you an out. Just go. Please. Make this easier for both of us.”

For a long moment Steve just stared at him, and his eyes were so sad and so blue. “Bucky,” his voice broke on the word, and he cleared his throat. “Sorry. James. I never stopped caring. I never-” 

He reached out like he wanted to touch, but stopped himself before he made contact. “I know that I… Look. This isn't the time or place to hash this out, but let’s just say I was a mess when you shipped out. I didn’t know how to handle life without you, and it led to me making some- let’s say rash decisions. Everything got so much bigger and crazier than I expected and I didn’t know how to tell you, or how you’d take it. Then you were injured, then the Chitauri attacked before I could work up the nerve to see you, and after that I kept finding excuses to stay away. I was so afraid of what you’d say, what you’d think of me. But I kept tabs on you as best I could; I lost your trail about three years back.”

“When I went undercover for this assignment…” James said, putting pieces together, and Steve nodded.

“I know I shouldn’t have stayed away but this body,” he gestured helplessly at his chest. “I don’t feel like myself. I’m not _me_ , I’m Captain America, and that’s all anyone sees. You always saw me, and I didn’t think I could bear it if I came to you and all you saw was the shield. You- you’re the only piece of myself I have left. If I didn’t see you, Steve Rogers could still exist somewhere.”

James was conflicted. On one hand he felt like an asshole for how he’d been treating Steve over the past few days, but that guilt warred with the deep-rooted hurt and betrayal he wasn’t ready to let go of quite yet. That had been brewing and twisting in his guts for twelve years, he couldn’t let it go because of a few sad words. He cleared his throat. “You’re right. Not the right place. Let’s go to the safe house.”


	4. Howling Commandos Brewery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James - Jamie - has his first day at work and meets his coworkers.

Their undercover car was a boring and nondescript gray SUV and they drove in silence, both lost in their own thoughts to their nondescript two-story house in a nondescript suburb with a reasonable commute to the hip downtown area where James would be working. James’ things were in the guest suite downstairs and Steve had the master bedroom on the second floor along with an office. The setup was mostly out of necessity so James didn’t have to navigate the stairs, but he was relieved they’d each have a bit of their own space during their confinement. Someone had even installed a sturdy bar handle in the downstairs shower like he was in an elderly care home or something. 

Steve was hovering in his doorway, timid and worried in a way that made James feel irritated and guilty at the same time, which just left him kinda queasy. He wasn’t ready to address… whatever they were going to talk about. He cleared his throat and Steve’s eyes snapped to him with painful hope in them.

“I’m uh,” James paused to clear his throat again, which was just ridiculous, come on, self. “I’m gonna check in with the home office and start reading up on beer, I guess. I don’t think I’m really up for being Jamie tonight, is it ok if we just have something delivered for dinner? We can do rounds of the neighborhood and be visible tomorrow when I get back from work.”

Steve was almost able to hide his disappointment at being dismissed, but James caught the held-back urge to say something. Instead, Steve was just agreeable and accommodating, which was uncomfortable for everyone, honestly. “Yeah, of course! You must be tired anyways. I’ll let you know when food is here. Um, do you need anything? I can bring you a water, will you need a pain pill soon?”

“I’m good, thanks. I can make it to the kitchen if I need anything. I’ll see you in a couple hours?” Steve was nodding, and it was weird, and James weighed the sharp edges of their relationship against the creepy discomfort of Stepford Steve and resolved to have their big talk soon. As soon as he could confront the last twelve years without a squeezing feeling at his throat. 

“Ok sure, I’ll see you soon. I’ll just, um, I guess I’ll be upstairs if you need me. Not me, but need anything, just- I mean, feel free to holler.” Steve was blushing, and made a swift retreat towards the staircase.

“Alright, thanks pal,” James called after him, and closed the door to his room. He got his laptop from his bag, accessed their secure network, and sent an “Arrived” message to his commander. Next he pulled out his stack of reading material on craft beers and sat against his headboard to read.

~~~

James awoke to a quiet knock at his bedroom door. 

“Hey James, dinner’s here-” Steve trailed off when the door opened and just gestured towards the kitchen. James followed at the swinging lope that his crutches allowed him, and wasn’t able to hold back a startled laugh when he saw the kitchen island covered with food.

“Did you invite the neighborhood after all, Rogers?”

Steve’s cheeks were definitely pink. “I didn’t know what you wanted, and you were sleeping, and I eat a lot anyways so…”

“So you just ordered from every restaurant in the area?” James finished for him, refusing to think of this guy who needed to turn sideways to fit his shoulders through a standard doorway as adorable. _A-door-able_. He snickered at his own dumb pun and saw Steve’s shoulders drop, which made him feel like an asshole, something that seemed to keep happening in the face of Steve’s earnestness.

“Hey, sorry, I’m not laughing at ya,” he scrambled to make Steve feel better somehow. “I just thought of somethin’, it was a dumb joke I heard earlier I just got. Meowntain. Ha. Anyways, is that spaghetti?” He sat himself at the island and started opening containers, using his fingers to pick out bites of various foods.

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes, but he was relaxed and comfortable as he got plates and utensils for them, handing James a fork with a pointed look. James just as pointedly didn’t acknowledge the feigned disapproval and worked on getting a good variety of cultures onto his plate.

The two of them managed to relax as they ate, keeping the conversation light and their mouths mostly full. James’ curry chicken was mixing with his spaghetti, and he speared a piece of broccoli from his serving of beef and broccoli onto his already-laden fork. Steve’s look of disgust was genuine this time as he watched from his side of the counter, where his plate had food types carefully separated and _not touching_. James held eye contact as he ate his bite of curry-spaghetti-broccoli, and smirked when Steve’s grimace deepened.

“I thought you were hungry?” James taunted with his mouth full.

“I forgot how gross you are when you eat,” Steve said with a fascinated sort of awe.

“”Is that any way to talk about your husband, Grant Carter? You’re supposed to love me and my eating habits.”

“Yeah? Well I hope that Jamie has better table manners than Bucky so we aren’t embarrassed in front of all our neighbors that we have to make friends with.” He had a small, fond smile on his face that vanished in a blink when he registered his slipup. The comfortable, teasing atmosphere chilled instantly and Steve’s eyes snapped to his plate with a mumbled “sorry,” before he started shoveling food in his mouth at an alarming pace, apparently trying to escape James’ presence as soon as superhumanly possible.

“Hey,” James knocked his foot against Steve’s. “I started it. Now slow down, the food’s not going anywhere and I’m not helping you if you aspirate mashed potatoes.”

The joke got an undignified snort out of Steve and James got another flicker of a smaller figure making that same noise, and his brain needed to kindly _cut that shit out_ because it wasn’t fair to either of them to build up unwanted expectations. Steve wanted a friend, that’s what he’d said; the last time James had tried to turn it into something more (with admittedly terrible timing) it had been a disaster, so he was going to keep this shit platonic if it killed him. He forced out a painful smile, still not ready to open this conversation, and they finished their international mish mash feast in awkward silence. 

_Tomorrow_ , he thought. He’d give himself a day to be Jamie Carter, to sell craft beers and get his head on straight and settle into this cover. _Tomorrow when I get home I’ll talk to him about stuff. And things. And **feelings**_. He was a soldier and a FBI agent; he’d survived war, covert missions, and loss of limb, he could handle some words. Tomorrow.

~~~

Ok so here’s the thing. His first day as Jamie was really busy. He had to get up extra early to compensate for getting ready around his injury and getting the sleeve on to camouflage his arm. Steve drove him to Howling Commandos Brewery; he helped James maneuver out of the car and to the side door where he was told employees entered. 

“Showtime,” Steve said, stepping in front of James and cutting his head towards the window, where a large man with a ginger mustache was peering out at them. 

Steve seemed to be leaning in for a bro-hug, which would be a great platonic option, but James told himself they had a cover to protect and decided to go for broke. He put his weight on his crutches and tilted forward, falling into that broad chest and trusting Steve to catch him. Steve did, of course, because he was Captain America, and James used the moment of surprise to press a kiss to his chiseled jaw.

“Thanks for the ride, dear,” he said brightly, and had to hold back an honest to god giggle at the startled look on Steve’s face. “I’ll see you tonight.” He grinned at his fake husband and made his way past him and into his first day. _Can’t look platonic under observation_ , he rationalized.

The guy in the window turned out to be his boss, Timothy “Dum Dum” Dugan. He was huge, with arms to rival Steve’s, and he’d have been one scary motherfucker if he weren’t grinning a leer as he opened the door to let James in. the dumb bowler hat and mustache softened his image, too.

“Well good morning! I knew I was getting a new employee today, I didn’t know he’d be bringing a show with him.”

“The old ball and chain? I guess he’s alright, but give me a week to get out of this brace and you’ll see I’m the main attraction,” he winked, and held out his hand to his new boss. “Jamie Carter. Pleased to meet you.” 

Dum Dum laughed, big and loud. “You’re gonna do just fine here, Jamie. Come on in, I'll give you the ten cent tour before the rest of the crew gets in.”

They walked through the main floor, which was a gleaming maze of silos and bottles and barrels. James didn’t know anything about the brewing process, but he didn’t have to know how to make it, he just had to sell it. They made their way to a small office where Dugan had a product binder ready for him with names and descriptions of what they created. Each of the crew had a beer named for him; Dugan said they’d all served together in the military and when they got out, decided to go at this venture together too. 

Dugan had two brews, being the owner and all. Dum Dum’s Dark and Ginger Tim. They had a Juniper Pale Ale for Junior, A Dernier Biere for Jacques, and a brew just named “Pinky’s” that was apparently a strawberry lager. There was Morita’s Malt, Falsworth’s drink was called the Union Jack, and then there was Gabe’s Hard Root Beer. 

As the crew came in to start their work day, they took time to introduce themselves to Jamie and wax poetic about their own personal brew, telling him why he should focus his marketing efforts on theirs, since it was the best the brewery put out. Apparently there was a good-natured rivalry going on between them, and everyone wanted their drink to be on top. 

“Alright boys, get to work,” Dugan boomed, his blue eyes twinkling. “You know my dark is the best selling anyways, so quit sucking up to the new marketing guy. I have actual business to go over with Jamie here.”

They spent the rest of the work day going over boring intake paperwork like payroll and health insurance, which was extra mind-numbing since this was all just part of his cover, but it had to be done to make it seem real, so James had to slog through it all. Dum Dum got a sly smile as he read over the forms. “So your fella’s name is Grant, huh? He’s a big guy. What’s he do? Military? Firefighter?” 

Jamie smiled, anticipating the reaction that was coming. “No sir, he’s a graphic designer. Works from home, spends all day on the computer or at his drafting table.” Dum Dum’s jaw dropped satisfyingly, but he recovered quickly and looked thoughtful, probably thinking of ways to use this new information to his advantage. James continued, “it worked out for us; when my hip got broken on the job and I had to leave construction, it was easy for him to bring his work wherever we ended up. So here we are!”

His boss stroked his mustache in thought. “I’ve been considering a redesign on our labels. Can you ask Grant if he’d be up for it, what rates would be, if I could see a portfolio?”

_Shit_ , this was early for their cover to be challenged like this. “Well,” he hedged. “I know he’s behind on a few big commissions right now because of the move, so I’m not sure he can pick up any new work. I’ll mention it to him.”

“Good man,” Dum Dum stood and clapped him on the shoulder - _the left shoulder_ \- and said, “Damn Carter, between you and your husband I’m going to start feeling self conscious.”

"I’ve never seen an ego more resilient than yours, Timothy,” quipped Falsworth as he walked past the open office door, carrying a crate of empty bottles. 

“Fuck you, I’m a delicate flower!” Dugan yelled after him, and James couldn’t hold back a grin. At the very least, his fake day job was gonna be fun.


	5. Keep it Copacetic - It's so Pathetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oniony feelings layers keep getting peeled back

Steve came to pick him up at the end of the day, and Dum Dum walked him out to the car with a sample pack of beers. “Hey there!” He waved to Steve and held the beers out. “I know Jamie here can’t do his tasting until next week when he doesn’t have to worry about mixing meds with alcohol, but I want you to try these out too, see if they uh, _inspire_ you any.” He winked at James as Steve took the proffered beers and sauntered back into the building.

Steve stared at the beer, then at James. “Was your boss just coming on to me right in front of you?”

“No, he wants to offer you a job.”

“I have a job. Well, Grant has a job, anyway.” He put the beer on the back seat and helped James into the car so they could make their way to the house.

“I know, and I told him that. He wants to hire you within the scope of your pretend job. Something about a new design for the labels? Anyways, I told him you had a bunch of work and couldn’t take on a new client, so you’re clear.”

They didn’t speak for a few minutes, just drove along in semi-awkward silence, until Steve muttered, “I could do it.”

“Huh?” James wasn’t following Stebe’s train of thought because he’d been thinking about the quart of cookies and cream he’d spotted in the freezer when he was getting coffee grounds this morning.

“I could design the beer labels.”

“No, Rogers, he asked for a portfolio and prices and shit. I know you’re an amazing artist, but do you even know anything about graphic design?”

Steve squared his shoulders at the challenge and he didn’t roll his eyes _physically_ , but he could really express a lot through his tone of voice. “Yes, I know graphic design, I didn’t just pull this cover out of a hat. I have a portfolio and a standard rate, I’ll put something together for your boss. I’ll need a design concept from him, a logo if he has one for me to incorporate, and we can set up a meeting for next week when you start your off-sites. That keeps things more professional, and delaying the meeting makes it look like I actually have something to do besides chauffeur you around everywhere.”

James’ cover should’ve been in the circus; he was apparently flexible enough to keep sticking his foot in his mouth, even with a busted hip. “So,” he tried. “I’m guessing your art is some deep dark secret that you aren’t allowed to be open and proud about? Is your artist flag hanging in the closet next to your rainbow one?”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “It was discussed at length and decided that… certain aspects of my personal life should be kept private for the sake of maintaining the image of Captain America.”

“Stevie, no,” James breathed out, hurt and angry that anyone would want to suppress any part of Steve, whitewash him into some bullshit image of false patriotism. “You can’t just let them tell you who to be!”

Steve let out a flat, humorless chuckle. “It kinda came with the serum. And the shield. The only way to actually make a difference was to play by their rules and make compromises.”

James couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “The Steve Rogers I knew didn’t compromise. He stood up for what was right.”

“It’s just drawing, Buck. It never mattered to nobody.”

“It mattered to you, doesn’t that count for something?”

“Not against all the lives I’ve saved as Captain America,” Steve growled, pulling into the driveway and slamming the car into Park. He closed his eyes and took a breath. “Besides, I’ve been working as a graphic designer here and there, just not under my own name.”

James allowed that statement to hang in the air until they’d gotten inside the house. He wanted nothing more than to go to his room and uncover his arm to take a nap, but it was still early in the evening and a neighbor could swing by to welcome the newest additions. Plus, if he napped now he wouldn’t be able to sleep later on, and he had another early start the next day. So he made his way into the kitchen where Steve had put the beers in the fridge and was pulling out ingredients for what looked like fajitas. James sat at the island and maneuvered his way onto a stool; he was in just his brace now, sans crutches. “Hey, why don’t you give me a knife and cutting board and I’ll slice up the veggies?”

“Have you washed your hands?” Steve asked, because even when things were tense and awkward and James was trying to make a peace offering, he had to be a bossy little shit.

James sighed with a roll of his eyes and levered himself out of the chair, limping to the sink to wash his hands. Once he was back in his seat he looked at Steve expectantly, and was soon slicing onions, bell peppers, and cutting corn off the cob. He waited until. Steve had food sauteeing in the pan and couldn’t go anywhere before he casually asked, “So what name do you work under, with your art stuff?”

Steve jumped, like he was surprised at the question, always a soldier but not a spy, that Steve Rogers. Couldn’t lie for shit. “Grant… Carter?”

“Now that is a very interesting coincidence,” James said calmly. Knife flying smooth and sure through a red bell pepper.

“It was just easier-” Steve started to say, but James interrupted him.

“You know Steve, I thought I was the one taking advantage here, pulling you away from your new, better life after you ditched me, playing house and taking whatever scrap of affection I can get from you in public, using the cover to get that attention from you because I’m _that fucking pathetic_ , and here you are using me as a- a vacation, a day off from your high profile superhero life to live your artist’s dream. Well fuck you, pal.” Storming out of a room was much less effective when the fastest he could manage was a trudging limp, but James was pissed enough that he pulled it off with a reasonable amount of menace. Steve fumbled to turn the stove off and follow him, but the doorbell rang with perfect timing. James didn’t turn, just kept moving to his room and hissed, “answer the fucking door,” under his breath, counting on Steve’s enhanced hearing to pick it up. Or, at the very least, he could use his goddamn eyes and see that James wasn’t going to answer it, so it was his responsibility. 

From his room where he was taking off the prosthetic sleeve and laying back on his bed, James overheard Steve talking to a neighbor woman who had brought them cookies, apparently. Steve made excuses for him, saying he had just gone to rest his hip after a long day at work, but of course they’d love to come to a BBQ at Sandy’s house the next Saturday and meet all the neighbors, what a kind welcome. Sandy promised a casserole the following day and that she’d keep the rest of the “neighborhood vultures” at bay until the get-together on Saturday, to give the two of them time to settle in without everyone fussing.

After several minutes of small talk she finally left and James heard Steve go back to the kitchen and continue cooking dinner. He shifted and tried to get comfortable on his bed, stewing in his anger. He wanted space, wanted to be mad, but there was still a part of him that wanted Steve to come in and explain himself, say whatever words would heal the last twelve years between them, as impossible as that scenario was. James missed him so goddamn bad, but he didn’t even know if the Steve Rogers he missed was there to be found anymore. 

“You pathetic bastard,” he grumbled to himself, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. This assignment was even more of a mindfuck than he had anticipated, and he had been plenty worried about it to begin with. Twenty minutes later, Steve brought him a tray of dinner with three of Sandy’s cookies on a napkin off to the side. He was in and out without making eye contact or saying a word.

The next week and a half passed in silent coexistence; Steve drove him to and from work, they ate dinner separately and barely looked at each other. The loneliness had a similar bitter tang to what he was used to, but with a fresh, sharp edge now that he and Steve were in the same space and had to actively avoid interacting.

James learned about all of the beers at Howling Commandos and got to know the guys better. It was easy to see why Dum Dum was their leader; his big, loud personality had a heart to match. The guy never lost his temper, was an expert at diffusing tense situations, yet managed to be knowledgeable and competent enough both as a soldier and a boss that all of his guys respected the hell out of him and didn’t want to disappoint him. Junior was in quiet awe around everyone else, eager to please. He had joined up with the group on their last tour, when they were already legends in certain circles, and he’d never lost the hero worship.

Jacques and Gabe were always talking in rapid French to each other out on the floor; probably about boring everyday shit, but if one of them saw someone hovering, trying to listen, they’d drop that guy’s name along with a scoff or a laugh, just to fuck with their friends who after so many years of knowing Jacques, _still_ hadn’t picked up basic conversational French and thought the two men were avoiding English to keep secrets. One afternoon James heard Pinky muttering about “changement d’huile” and how he had Google, he could find out what it meant, Gabe! Just as soon as he figured out how the fuck to spell it…

Jim Morita was a quiet guy, but always had a smirk on his face like he was making fun of everyone in the room at all times. There was a really good mix of personalities in the group, and “Jamie’s” easygoing, friendly demeanor fit in seamlessly; James found that he didn’t really have to work all that hard on his cover at work, and his natural sarcastic nature worked well in that environment. By the end of the first week he was automatically turning his head to answer to the name Jamie and had an easy banter with the Commandos crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changement d’huile” means “oil change,” so it really was the most mundane conversation ever that Pinky was getting worked up about.


	6. Iron Man Original

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally get some shit worked out. Also there's pie.

James’ easy interactions and comfort at work made the heavy silences at home that much more unnatural in comparison. “Look,” he said on the way to the house the Friday night before the big BBQ, after Steve had picked him up from the brewery. “We have that neighborhood thing tomorrow, we can’t be avoiding each other and being weird, it’s bad for our cover. So we’re gonna… talk.” He bit out the last word and stared blankly at the passing landscape.

The leather of the steering wheel creaked as Steve’s hands tensed around it, but he nodded. “Yeah, of course. You’re right. Let’s pick up some dinner, yeah? We’ll talk at the house.”

James nodded, not bothering to give more of an answer than that. Steve got them some subs and they ate at the coffee table in the living room, hanging out in the same space together for the first time in over a week. They looked at their food, at the walls, at the floor, avoiding each other’s gazes with none of the subtlety that their training should have provided.

When their food was gone, James kept up the _who knew dust was so interesting_ ruse, but Steve turned six feet of golden retriever puppy dog eyes on him. “I know I overstepped, and I’m sorry for the way I went about things. I just… I couldn’t lose you again-”

James’ eyes snapped up from their study of the narwhal pattern of his socks to glare at him. “You didn’t lose me Steve, you _left me_. I was scared when I got my orders. I’d joined up in the first place for you, so you could go to school and have a goddamn _life_. Shit Stevie, you’re talented and smart as hell when you’re not being a fucking idiot. You deserved more, deserved to go places and I was scared shitless to go overseas but it was worth it, you were worth it, and I thought I could be selfish and stupid and tell you about my feelings before I shipped out. I figured that you didn’t feel the same way, expected nothing, but you were my _best friend_ and I thought that you’d let me down easy, that it was something I could get off my chest before going out to my possible death, but we’d move on. 

“When I got nothing? No emails, no phone calls, no letters, that radio silence killed me. Almost literally,” he gestured awkwardly with his metal left arm and tried to laugh, but it came out as a slightly hysterical sob, and he realized his face was wet with tears. 

Steve, who had been sitting in contrite silence while James spoke, looked between his prosthetic and his face as his eyes widened in horror. “Bucky what- what do you mean?” His voice was a hoarse whisper, choked by guilt. 

James shrugged awkwardly. “I didn’t have the strongest sense of self-preservation over there. There were guys with spouses, families waiting for them. I’m good at what I do, and I got assigned high-level ops, which I kept getting because I’d do whatever was necessary to complete the job. Then it caught up with me.” He shrugged again, grabbing a leftover napkin from their dinner and wiping his face.

“Honestly the most surprising part is that I survived at all, much less that there was enough of me to patch together and give a job in the field. Guess I was lucky Uncle Sam valued me as an asset, because I didn’t much care about the outcome either way.”

“No,” Steve breathed out, barely audible. “ _No_ ,” he said again, louder and incredulous. With a careless shove the coffee table between them was sent skidding across the carpet, thudding into the dining room and knocking over a chair. James was sitting on the floor with his back against the loveseat, so he was trapped when Steve essentially crawled into his lap, taking his face in those big, broad hands and forcing their eyes to meet. 

“Bucky, no. That’s not- don’t _say_ stuff like that.” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead into James’, like he wanted to press the thoughts directly into his mind. “I didn’t want to leave you, I was trying to _follow_ you. The serum was supposed to get me healthy enough to enlist along with you, because I was in love with you too. I’d been hiding it for years, then you opened that door right before you left and I lost my damn mind. I couldn’t just sit and wait for you; I’ve realized over the past twelve years that maybe a phone call would’ve been helpful, but I… I don’t know. You were gone, and I went to a recruiting office, made a big stink when they turned me down. Then, the next thing I knew a doctor was coming in to talk to me about a new experimental treatment, that it could be my shot at enlistment and I found myself agreeing without thinking about it-”

“Of course you didn’t think you punk,” James muttered. “How could you do something so colossally stupid?” He gasped when his brain finished sorting through all of Steve’s words (he had a lap full of super soldier, it was very distracting), and he tensed, grabbing on to the nearest available thing to steady himself, which just so happened to be a tiny, muscular waist. 

“What was that? At the beginning?”

“I was trying to enlist too,” Steve said.

James squeezed his waist. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. You had feelings for me?”

“That’s not what I said,” Steve murmured into the space between them, and James felt the spark of hope implode in his chest.

_Of course_ , he thought. _It’s what I always thought it was, he got a better life, there’s no place for a broken piece of his past in it._ He tried to use his hands at Steve’s waist to push him away, to retreat in on himself, run and find somewhere to hide, where his shortcomings and flaws wouldn’t be held up next to the shining example of Steve Rogers’ perfection. “This was a mistake, I can’t do this.” His breathing was getting panicked because Steve wouldn’t move. He was just there, still in his space, and James had never known him to be cruel.

“Bucky, Bucky, listen. I didn’t say I had feelings for you, I said I was in love with you. Always was. Always will be. ‘Til the end of the line.”

~~~

_‘Til the end of the line…_

Time stood still as the two men sat suspended in the quiet of the living room, those six words hanging between them and pulling James back through the years, to when Steve was still small and still his. _Steve’s ma had finally succumbed to the cancer and Steve was sharp and jagged in his grief. “I don’t need your pity, Bucky. I can get by on my own.”_

_“The thing is, you don’t have to,” he’d responded. “It’s not pity, Steve. It’s trying to be a decent human and giving a shit about my best friend. No matter what comes at us I’m with you, pal. ‘Til the end of the line.”_

James’ attention drifted back to the present, where Steve was somehow still here but big and healthy… and just said that he was in love with James. “The fuck, Stevie?”

Wide blue eyes met his. “What?”

“Are the both of us really stupid and self-sacrificing enough to miss out on each other our whole lives? This whole time? Shit Steve, and you thought I’d turn you down ‘cause of this body?” He ran his hands, flesh and metal, up and down Steve’s sides. “The guy I love can’t get sick, can barely get hurt, can finally finish all the dumb fights he starts, how could I ever be mad at that? At you being healthy and whole?”

“I’m not the same person you grew up with,” Steve said softly.

“I’m a fucking _cyborg_ ,” James retorted. “Is that a deal breaker? Shove off, I’m not going anywhere and my feet are going numb.”

Steve slid off James’ lap and settled on the floor next to him, taking his left hand and tracing his fingertips over the intricate plating of his knuckles. “Of course I don’t mind the arm, how could I be mad at you being healthy and whole?” He parroted James’ words back at him. “I had to let Tony call me any nickname he wanted without complaining for a _month_ to get him to build this for you,” he said musingly.

“What? No. This was- this was a veteran’s program, the Stark Foundation helped a bunch of people.” James looked at him, confused.

Steve blushed bright red and kept his eyes on their joined hands. “That’s true,” he hedged. “But it may have been started because I got news of your medical discharge and went to Tony to convince him to build you an arm, and we ended up expanding that into a full program. A lot of veterans did get services and prosthetics, but yours is by far the most advanced. It took a lot of work to get the program up and running, and a significant number of threats to get Tony to keep my name out of it.”

“Tony Stark built this? Personally?” James held their joined hands up and his voice raised in excitement. Steve smiled and nodded, relieved that this secret wasn’t another wedge between them. “Holy shit, that is so cool. I wish we weren’t in communication blackout so I could tell everyone I know,” James was babbling like an excited fanboy, his eyes twinkling. All of a sudden his eyes went wide and his voice dropped to a whisper as he stared into the distance. “Ohmygod, I’ve gotten off with an Iron Man original creation up my ass.”

Steve gasped and his hands clenched; he was distantly thankful that he was holding Bucky’s metal hand because his shock had him forgetting his strength and he may have broken a bone accidentally. “Fuck.”

“Hm?” James looked at him, and a slow smirk spread across his face as he took in Steve’s flushed appearance. “Oh I’m sorry, Stevie. My mouth ran away from me. You ok?”

Steve’s glare wasn’t very convincing with blown pupils and a blush high on his cheeks to discredit it. “That wasn’t fair.”

“When did I ever agree to play fair, sweetheart?” James’ smile was predator-sharp. The air was thick with tension; not the awkward hurt that had been there earlier in the evening, but a warm, syrupy anticipation.

The doorbell rang, shattering the moment, and both of them were on instant high alert. They glanced at each other in silent communication for a split second before moving in sync, Steve retrieving a gun from under the side table and in the entryway and James taking up a position out of view from the door and pulled a gun out from behind the hallway mirror. Another quick glance and a nod to confirm they were both in position and ready, and Steve eased the door open, keeping a foot and knee braced behind it to prevent the possibility of someone forcing their way in. 

“Sandy!” Steve said brightly when he saw who had come to call on them. He shoved his handgun into the waistband of his pants and threw James a _stand down_ hand signal behind his back. “Hey, what’s up? Are we still on for the BBQ tomorrow?”

“Oh yes, you’re so sweet for asking, Grant. I just wanted to check in on you boys and see how you were settling in. Is that husband of yours home? How is his hip, poor dear?”

Steve’s eyes cut to the hallways where James was hidden from Sandy’s view, his metal arm fully visible. “Jamie’s in the shower, washing off that brewery smell,” he explained to their neighbor. “He’s recovering well, able to get around without the crutches now. I think he was working extra hard on his physical therapy so he’d have his hands free to hold plates of food tomorrow,” he whispered conspiratorially, winking at Sandy and making her blush. “We’ll be there, and Jamie brought home a couple cases of craft beer from work for our contribution, to thank you for the warm welcome.”

“Oh, Ron will be thrilled,” Sandy cooed. “There will be plenty of room in the ice chests for you. Oh! I was doing all of my cooking for tomorrow and this pie came out ugly as sin. It’ll still be delicious, but I couldn’t possibly put it out on the table tomorrow in front of the whole neighborhood. So this practice pie, as my mom always called them, is for you. It’s peach praline.”

“You’re going to spoil us,” Steve said, laying on the charm. “Between Jamie bringing home beers for me to try, you feeding us up, and me working from home I’m not going to fit through the front door soon!”

“Grant, the whole neighborhood has seen you out in the mornings on your runs, you aren’t fooling me for a second.” She slapped him playfully on the bicep, and James narrowed his eyes at her lingering fingertips. Sandy’s eyes followed the path of her hand down Steve’s arm, and she sighed. “Anyways. I have more party prep to do before bed tonight so I have to get home. See you boys tomorrow, twelve sharp.”

“Alright, goodnight Sandy. And thanks for the pie.” Steve closed the door behind her, set the pie on the side table, and holstered his gun back underneath it. He turned to James, who was stowing his own gun and made to move in for a kiss, but he was halted by a hand in the middle of his chest.

“Pie,” Jeames said, trying to move past Steve in the narrow hallway.

Steve caught him around the waist. “Bucky, we were uh-”

“I know we were on our way to doing something, but there’s pie, and I want it.”

Steve paused for a moment, then said, “There’s vanilla ice cream in the freezer.”

James growled and pulled him into a hard kiss. “I love you, Stevie. I also love pie. Let’s go have dessert.”

The pie was devoured at the kitchen island straight out of the tin, with scoops of ice cream melting in rivulets down into the crevasses of their pie excavations. As it turned out, the emotional drain of confessing decades-held secrets paired with a sugar coma left them unable to do much more than climb into Bucky’s bed and fall asleep curled into each other.


	7. Sushi Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conclusion and code speak.

The neighborhood BBQ the next day went according to plan. Grant and Jamie were a big hit; the men were won over by the craft beer they brought and the women were annoyingly attentive to Steve and his pecs in his dumb tight shirt. They came, they socialized, and they made a graceful exit after they each cleared two dinner plates and sampled at least four of the desserts. It was so much better, easier now that everything was out in the open. The sweetness of Steve’s supportive hand on the small of his back wasn’t tinged with the bitter edge of a lie anymore; he could revel in it, knowing it was real, and the only thing they were faking was their names.

“I’m so glad I can at least have the brace off at home now,” James said as they walked back hand in hand. “It’s so much easier to get around without it.”

“Soon enough you’ll be out of it completely and you won’t need me to drive you to work anymore,” Steve smiled and squeezed his hand.

“But what if I want you to keep driving me?” James asked with a fake pout.

Steve laughed and pulled him in by their joined hands so he could brush a kiss to his temple. “I’ll be your chauffeur as long as you want, baby.”

“I’ll hold you to that, doll.”

As they neared their house, Steve’s phone chimed with a new text alert. Natasha’s secure phone (“Talia” in his contacts) had sent a text:

_**TALIA: New seafood restaurant just opened in your neighborhood. Calamari is $10, keep an eye out. I’ll meet you there in 20 ;)** _

Steve slowed his steps, pulling James to a nearby tree and boxing him in against the trunk; it would look to anyone passing by that they just simply couldn’t make it home to be affectionate. “Hydra has found us,” he spoke low and quiet into James’ ear. “Ten agents at least, our backup is 20 minutes out.”

“What’s our approach?” James wrapped an arm around Steve’s neck and turned them a little so his braced leg was hidden in shadow between them and the tree, and he started working at the fastenings to remove it. “This thing is too damn clunky for me to wear right now.”

“We can’t go back to the party, too many civilians. Hydra won’t have any qualms about tracking us down there, or collateral damage,” Steve said.

“Well we’re too exposed here, we need to get somewhere defensible,” James argued. He dropped his brace on the grass next to them and stretched his leg out as well as he could. He was healed enough to move how he needed right now; even if he’d need painkillers at the end of it, agility was necessary to avoid another bullethole. 

Steve glanced around the deserted street and leaned back in. He wrapped his arms around James and spoke quickly, Captain America coming to the forefront. “Back to the house. I have the garage door opener in my pocket, we can open that to pull their attention while I approach from the side of the house and in through the downstairs bathroom window. I’ll secure the house while you cover the street-”

James was already shaking his head in disagreement. “They said ten Hydra agents. No Steve, you aren’t going to clear the house on your own. You can’t even get to your shield right now.” He drew a gun and glared, setting his shoulders in their _Protect Steve At All Costs_ stance that they'd mastered in grade school. 

Steve sighed and took a moment to restrategize. “We can go through this yard over to Maple, approach from the opposite side. John next door has a hair trigger motion-sensor floodlight in his backyard, it’ll just take a thrown rock or something to light it up. That always sets off Ranger, the dog that lives behind us, barking. Marcie on our other side has a generator behind her shed, and that thing makes a shit-ton of noise. We’ll verify the houses around us are clear, set all of the distractions off at once, along with the garage door and our car alarm. That will give us an idea of the situation in our house and buy us some time while Nat is on her way. If we time it right, we should be able to send them scrambling right as our team shows up.”

James kissed him, fast and dirty. “God, it’s hot when you talk strategy. Let’s move.”

They slipped through trees and over fences, falling easily into a mission mindset. They didn’t need to talk; they were both professionals and damn good at their jobs. With an established plan of approach, they moved together seamlessly as if they’d been working together for years. They settled down in Marcie’s backyard, in the shadows beside her shed. Steve’s phone buzzed, and he held it so James could see the new message.

_**TALIA: Your friend Brock is at dinner, but his boss isn’t in town.**_

Steve almost crushed his phone in his hand as a wave of anger hit him at the thought of Rumlow there. In their house, that had felt too much like a home for a mission, if he was being honest. Last time he’d been too worried about Bucky to hunt the bastard down, but he wouldn’t get away this time. He was here to try and kill Bucky - again - and Steve wouldn’t give him the change. He texted back:

_**GRANT: What’s your ETA? We’re going to put on a show before we go in, but we’re waiting on you.** _

A short “ _ **3 mins**_ ” came back, and the men got ready. Steve had a football he’d grabbed from a neighboring yard to trigger the floodlight, James was ready to turn on Marcie’s generator, the car key in his other hand to set off the alarm, and Steve would open the garage door. Exactly three minutes later, a black SUV with its headlights off rolled slowly down the street towards their house. When Steve saw a flash of red hair in the front seat he knew it was Natasha with a SHIELD team, and nodded to James to start. He stood up and threw the football into the path of the motion detector two backyards over, and the light came on. They got the generator, car alarm, and garage door making noise as Ranger started barking, right on cue. They moved away from the generator so they wouldn’t be near one of the noise sources and watched as dark shapes moved around inside their house. The SHIELD team was able to take their positions unnoticed with the distractions and as a Hydra goon stepped out the front door to check out the blaring car alarm, Natasha slipped behind him with a garrote and brought him down quickly and silently. The guy who went out the back door was grabbed by Steve as soon as he was out of view from the windows and was dispatched just as easily. 

The SHIELD team, Steve, and James swept into the house with brutal efficiency, overwhelming the Hydra group who suddenly found themselves on the wrong end of the ambush they’d planned. The entire thing was over within two minutes with no casualties, full capture of all Hydra associates, and a few minor flesh wounds on Hydra’s side (it’s possible Steve used slightly more force than necessary when he encountered Rumlow). SHIELD had a paddywagon nearby that rolled up to take the captives in for questioning.

As the Hydra agents were being loaded up for transport, Natasha got a call; Tony Stark and a handful of James’ squad that he’d been working with while undercover had captured Pierce at the airport, trying to leave the country.

It was over. SHIELD would handle interrogations, James’ agency would tie up the loose ends with the weapons dealings Pierce and Rumlow had been running, and Steve and Bucky could go back to their lives. The question they had to ask themselves was what would their lives look like now that they’d reconnected? They didn’t have time to talk it over right then; they both had debriefings to complete, relocations back to DC, and all the minutiae of settling back into real life. 

All in all, it was just over two weeks later that James shuffled to answer his front door wearing just his boxers and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What fuckin’ maniac is up this early,” he grumbled to himself. “Do you know what time it is?” he snapped as he swung the front door open. His lingering sleepiness vanished when he saw it was Steve, showered and dressed and holding a bag of food and a tray of coffees. 

“I know it’s early, but it’s been killing me not seeing you. I bring sustenance,” he offered, smiling fondly at Bucky’s rumpled state. 

James grabbed his face in both hands, flesh and metal, and Steve had nothing he could do but hold their breakfast out of the way while he was thoroughly kissed.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” James said. “I thought you’d just go back to your life as a superhero.”

“Buck, I told you. I’m here ‘til the end of the line. I’m not gonna give you up again. I love you.”

Bucky took a deep breath to hold back the moisture welling up in his eyes, and pulled Steve inside. 

“I love you too, you punk. ‘Til the end of the line.”


End file.
